


I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world

by Missy_dee811



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Avengers Vol. 1 (1963), Canon Compliant, Cooking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Museums, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Steve, Oblivious Steve Rogers, POV Steve Rogers, References to Depression, Self-Worth Issues, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: Cooking, he learned, was an art, and he was an artist.Alternatively, Steve and Tony have no idea they're dating.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 123





	I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlossomsintheMist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/gifts), [Reioka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reioka/gifts).



> This is set in that nebulous time during vol. 1 (if it was set in the present-day) after Steve learned of Tony's identity but before anything truly tragic happens. Just trust me. They live in the Mansion and they're (relatively) happy. Steve's still coping with being in the future, but he's been out of the ice for some time. 
> 
> Inspired by Frank O'Hara's [Having a Coke with You](https://poets.org/poem/having-coke-you).

Steve was humming softly while beating eggs. He had all the ingredients he needed for this omelet. He had chopped the chives, the peppers, and the mushrooms. Tony liked mushrooms. Steve had learned. Tony had informed him some mushrooms were hallucinogenic. Steve didn’t understand why someone would want to take a mind-altering substance, but after some thought, he realized the same could be said about him. After all, who wanted to offer their body to science not knowing what the procedure would entail and how it would change him from the inside out?

He didn’t share that with Tony.

He just noted that some mushrooms were hallucinogenic, just to be sure he didn’t add those to his omelet.

At that, Tony had laughed.

Tony had told him this story about his days in MIT. Steve followed along, as best he could. Tony was patient with him. He was never annoyed by Steve’s endless questions. Steve knew these were mundane things to the people around him, all of whom were born long after he had been encased in the ice under the Arctic. Though he hadn’t thought Tony would be the one with the most patience for his string of 21st-century-related inquiries, he was pleased. Tony took care in explaining even the simplest thing. He took great joy in being by Steve’s side whenever he could introduce him to something – often pop culture, but also, scientific discoveries, medical advances, and changes in the art world.

Steve felt invigorated by their conversations. Interested and invested in all these new things. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a chore – discovering what he had missed. Tony took him to museums and galleries. They went to a range of exclusive events.

Steve never knew how to dress for these occasions. Nothing he owned was up for the task. He had his uniforms, he had his workout clothes, he had a few t-shirts with a giant star emblazoned in the center, and… Not much else. He had a few khakis and chinos he could wear, paired with a button-down or a polo.

_That would do._

While sitting in the car, Tony adjusted the rear-view mirror, and turned to face him.

“Do we have to go back to the mansion, or do you have some time?”

Steve looked at his watch. It was still early. They had left shortly after breakfast and the Guggenheim was much smaller than some of the other museums.

Steve had caught him, eying him with an expression he couldn’t place.

“I should take you to the Frick,” he said a little while later, while standing behind Steve.

Steve was reading the plaque underneath the painting. He wondered what it would be like to read his name on such a plaque. To know others would come to a place such as this and view his work. View what he had sketched or painted with his own hand. Then his hands would have a reason to keep moving, to keep working. It wouldn’t be about death and destruction, he’d be giving life to something new, something no one had ever seen before.

Steve nodded. Lost in thought, he didn’t know how to respond, but somehow, Tony understood.

He smiled.

“Would be pretty cool to see your name written there."

_How did he know that? How did he always know?_

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all.

He remembered Tony had mentioned something else, something before. _The Frick._

He hadn’t heard of this place. _Was it a museum? An art gallery?_

“Is it like the MET?”

“Oh, no. Nothing is as impressive as the MET. Probably shouldn’t have taken you there first, but I couldn’t resist,” he said.

He looked around and added, “And please, please don’t let anyone hear me say that. They’d kick me off their Board.”

“You’re on their Board of Directors,” said Steve.

It was more of a statement, but either way, Tony replied, “My secretary loves art.”

Not that it answered a question.

“Great,” said Tony, pulling out of a very tight spot. “I have something we can do. If you’re willing to indulge me.”

“I thought the Guggenheim was today’s indulgence,” said Steve, teasingly.

Tony laughed.

“That was this morning. I need to indulge once more.”

“Okay,” said Steve, pushing his seat back and resting his head against his crossed arms.

Tony smiled.

They drove down the FDR Drive in amicable silence.

 _It was nice._ The quiet.

They arrived before a small storefront. Tony told Steve to step out and wait inside while he searched for parking.

“Just tell him I sent you and I’ll be right in,” said Tony.

Steve didn’t move.

“I promise, he doesn’t bite. Just tell him Mr. Stark sent you. He’ll know what to do.”

The second he stepped inside, the man say, “How can I help you?”

Steve did as he was told. Mentioned Tony had asked him to come in and was trying to find parking. The man nodded and stated he would be back before disappearing into the back. Leaving Steve alone. He wasn’t gone long and when he returned, he had a few fabrics in hand.

He asked Steve to stand on a raised platform while he got to work, taking measurements, making notes, sifting through swatches. Tony came in just as the man was measuring his chest.

“Good to see you, Mr. Stark,” said the man.

He seemed rather chipper, now that he was in his element and Tony had announced himself.

Tony stood by and watched as the man worked.

Directing his comment at Steve, he said, “I think I know how you feel when I’m fitting you for a new suit.”

Steve just nodded.

Tony sifted through the swatches on the counter and set aside the ones he liked. “I think these will do, Alfonse,” he said.

The man – Alfonse – peeked and nodded. “You have excellent taste, Mr. Stark.”

Tony beamed.

After some time, they settled on blue, navy, navy with pinstripes, burgundy, and olive. Steve liked the blue and navy pinstripes, he wasn’t sold on the burgundy or the olive. But he had been outvoted, and like Tony said, wasn’t paying.

“Would I lead you astray,” asked Tony.

_No._

He didn’t answer, but Tony knew. He _always_ knew.

Alfonse hadn’t asked for anything. Steve knew the suits would be expensive, maybe he had Tony’s information and didn’t need to ask. Though, that seemed unusual to him, but he didn’t know much about these things.

“Call me,” said Tony, as they were walking out the door.

Alfonse nodded.

They stopped for lunch – warm, pressed sandwiches – at a small restaurant nestled between a boutique and a coffee shop.

“Coffee later. I’m famished,” said Tony, already walking in, with Steve following close behind.

They sat in the corner, from where they could watch the people walking up and down the street while keeping an eye on their order. Steve had sat, knowing Tony would come back with something for them both. Sometimes, Steve let him order. _Expand your palette,_ Tony would say. Steve gave him the go-ahead to do just that. And now, Steve was certain he would try most anything Tony got him, because he’d know he’d love it.

Steve would spend the next several days trying (and failing) to recreate the recipe.

He learned to love cooking. There were so many flavors, and endless combinations. It gave him something to do, something to pass the time, and it was a valuable skill. Above all, it made Tony happy, to come back to the Mansion and find Steve in the middle of preparing a meal.

“Oh, thank God. I was afraid I was going to have to order take out.”

Tony was willing to be his taste-tester whenever possible and Steve… Well, he loved how willing Tony was to try something he had concocted, which pleased Steve, especially if he hit the jackpot, and made something Tony kept requesting.

He realized there was a whole channel dedicated to cooking and started watching the shows almost immediately.

“I see you’ve discovered Rachel Ray,” said Tony, one morning, while Steve prepared his omelet.

“I find it hard to follow some of her recipes, so that one I just watch,” he said.

As he told Tony, he found some of their programming to be lacking: more entertaining, than informative. Cooking, he learned, was an art, and he was an artist.

Cooking and art. The two things that made him the happiest. He would’ve never thought.

Tony had told him, early in their friendship, during one of their late-night conversations, to which he referred as a heart-to-heart, that Steve deserved happiness. Objectively, he knew that. His therapist had drilled it into his head. He deserved to be happy. But some days, it was hard to believe it.

He had been given a second chance, but they had thought him dead. Maybe he should’ve died. Why did he deserve this second chance, and was it really that? Why not someone else? Why not Bucky? 

But these simple things – carbonara, omelets – they made others happy, namely Tony, and that made him happy.

He wasn’t just for killing. He had a home, too.

Maybe he could live with that.

Yeah, maybe he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this conversation on [Tumblr](https://viudanegraaa.tumblr.com/post/190159373186/aurumacadicus-haha-blossomsinthemist-wanted-to).
> 
> Feel free to follow!


End file.
